


It's just a bunch of feelings that we hold

by GingerHoran



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Executive!Zayn, Husbands, M/M, student!niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:45:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerHoran/pseuds/GingerHoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Zayn Malik, Executive of…” he started with an overconfident smile, as after analysing for a few seconds only a very important or desperate client would ever ring at this hour of the night, the case must be pretty notorious and that always ran a hot shiver through Zayn’s spine.</p><p>“Babe, why haven’t you been answering your mobile? Why aren’t you at home yet?” an accented voice interrupted, and everything seemed to collapse around Zayn, all the stress of competition and demanding consumers, all the excitement and pressure of new cases and the heavy load of keeping a successful bussiness afloat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's just a bunch of feelings that we hold

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Flowers In The Window By Travis

One word, one word that describes how Zayn works, how the metal cogs slip and slide like clockwork through that offbeat mind of his, how his tongue curls with vindictiveness around angered words and how he sat with a rather reserved look whilst reading through paperwork.

One word wouldn’t be enough to describe his magnitude of personalities, his friends would be inclined to disagree and call him a polite and generous business man whereas his colleagues would call him hard-faced and domineering; to be painfully truthful neither could be farther from the truth.

Being the executive of a large law firm in a bustling slightly claustrophobic city was not exactly the simplest of ways to live, but Zayn didn’t just work he dedicated a huge chunk of his life to be in this position and he wasn’t about to give that up, even when Style’s and Co, were threatening to snatch up some of Malik’s most influential clientele. 

The large business phone sat upon his black cherry oak desk buzzed insistently, and Zayn sighed rubbing his tired eyelids and sliding the manila file onto the desk before darting his eyes to the dated Rolex on his left wrist: 10:56pm.

“Hello? Mr Malik?” The shrilled, slightly cautious voice of his young secretary asked.

“Yes Jane, what may I ask is the problem? The business lines closes at 6:30pm sharp, I thought we discussed this last week,” he replied, with a sharp click of his tongue, he wasn’t usually a rude or particularly arrogant towards Jane, the girl was only a young intern of 19, but the stress of work was getting heavy on his shoulders.

“Yes, I-I’m incredibly sorry Mr Malik, but the caller insists, he’s been ringing for over an hour,” she stuttered, and Zayn exhaled softly, packing away several of his latest cases into the large black index cabinets that sat in a row behind his desk, the more controversial cases were often handled by himself and although being executive, the man couldn’t rid the itch of excitement he received when arguing in a courtroom.

“Of course, put me through,” he said, checking his watch once again and sitting down into the plush leather seat, running his fingers through his recently cut hair which was now sitting against his forehead, long since unravelled from its previous near-perfect quiff.

The phone line beeped as the call was answered and Zayn sat up straighter in his chair, noticing that good posture always made you sound more confident, and rather smug even when on the phone. It was always a good quality in a lawyer, nobody believed in the act of trust anymore, it was long forgotten.

“Zayn Malik, Executive of…” he started with an overconfident smile, as after analysing for a few seconds only a very important or desperate client would ever ring at this hour of the night, the case must be pretty notorious and that always ran a hot shiver through Zayn’s spine.

“Babe, why haven’t you been answering your mobile? Why aren’t you at home yet?” an accented voice interrupted, and everything seemed to collapse around Zayn, all the stress of competition and demanding consumers, all the excitement and pressure of new cases and the heavy load of keeping a successful bussiness afloat.

“I’m sorry, don’t wait up okay Ni? I’ll be home in a half hour” he said with a small smile, he knew how much the pressure of everything was often uploaded onto his husband, and Niall being the rather delicate and insecure person he was, usually couldn’t handle the stress. Zayn much preferred the younger lad to focus on his studies at University, and nights out with that mental case Louis Tomlinson that Zayn hated to admit he was rather fond of.

“Oh, okay” he heard Niall mumble, he could imagine the unruly hair from dragged fingers and hunched shoulder over a binder file as he tried to focus on his Economics degree and perched ray ban reading glasses on his cute button nose as he highlighted pages of notes while trying to ignore the fact that his husband wasn’t there, snoring lightly beside him in the bed or letting him give him a back massage.

“Sweetheart, look I’m sorry, you know how it is, works just a pressure at the moment. I promise I’ll be home in less than 20 minutes okay?” Listening out for that hum of agreement he always heard whenever Niall didn’t always believe him, but always listened, that’s what made Zayn fall for the student, his trusting nature and listening ways.

“Sure,” he heard in a muttered reply, before whispered ‘I love you’ was shared causing that rare, tongue peeking through white teeth, smile flash by quickly with a twinkle of those golden brown eyes.

“I love you” he replied almost shyly, running his hands through his hair as he hung up the phone, sitting at the desk with a hum of remembrance, that memory of bumping into Niall on the way to a meeting with an important client who’d requested a to discuss the topics of their case in person, just in case any facts were misunderstand through phone communications.

As he still was, probably lying against their bed bobbing his head softly to the music drifting from Zayn’s speaker system, his hair was bright blond at the tips and a deep chocolate colour at the roots, his blue eyes were arctic and shivery and his words curled through a deep accent which dug right into Zayn’s bones.

Niall blushed a cherry red colour as coffee spilt down his brand new white shirt he had just bought for a job interview at the university library, but he didn’t cry out in agony or shout in annoyance, because the flustered, tall and brooding man before him was too intimidating and clogged the words into his throat.

Apologies were muttered, and Zayn invited Niall out for another coffee at his lunch break and offered to buy several more of the shirts he had just ruined.

Zayn had never once been late for a meeting and punctuality had always been a trait he found a necessity in peoples whom he employed or worked with, but on this particular day he spared those few minutes of his day to type in the blonds phone number into his day planner and be on his way, possibly carrying a small buzz in his stomach from anticipation.

One date turned into several which gradually turned into dozen, and at the end of 18 months Zayn anxiously got down on one knee, in front of a crystal blue lake only miles from his birthplace where he spent most of his teenage years, and asked his long-term boyfriend to marry him, Niall sobbed into that small Celtic engagement ring that night, it was the only time that Zayn allowed the younger boy to ever cry.

That was over a year ago.

Zayn grabbed his long black Burberry overcoat and slipped it over his broad shoulders, sliding the appropriate paperwork and documents into the leather wallet which was his anniversary gift from his mother and locking up all caseworks and checking the safe, before slipping out his glass office and wishing a goodbye to his secretary before stalking through the empty corridors of the large building and into the concrete car park.

Zayn hadn’t always been fond of extremely flashy cars, but having been left the company Range Rover by his father he couldn’t exactly disagree, but had preferred to spoil his husband with a treasured Red 1960 Camaro on his 21st birthday, Niall had squealed in sheer delight and hugged the elder man squeezing him within an inch of his life when he saw the cherry red beauty parked in their underground car park beside several other additions to which Zayn never drove.

Starting the engine with a silent purr, he drove through the flashing streets and alive city centre and even when living in New York ever since he was 16, he would never get used to the fact that the city literally never slept and there was always some commotion or some disturbance throughout the pitch black somewhere in the large city.

Zayn, however much he disliked the fact that he had too much money to deal with at times, liked the fact that his house was pretty serene, and peaceful. The glass panels let in a magnitude of light during the day and were particularly stunning in the winter when the soft snow would cover the entire city in a white blanket; it really was his favourite place in the world.

It was furnished rather discreetly with unique splashes of colour through his favourite paintings along the staircase, but everything else was pristinely white, including his bedroom with a large king sized bed, fluffy white carpet and a warming fireplace which flickered throughout the night, along with Niall it was his most prized possession.

After parking his car next to Niall’s through the underground garage, he locked the shuttered doors and let himself into the house. The kitchen was dark, and Zayn could smell the tomato and basil that Niall had probably cooked with, if the small china plate filled with pasta sat in the oven was anything to go by, he helped himself to a few forkful’s before placing his keys in the glass cabinet above the sink, and making his way as quietly as he could into his bedroom.

Niall’s sleeping figure was visible in the sheets, the bundle of white shifting up and down whenever the boy breathed; Zayn kissed his forehead lingeringly breathing in the scent of cinnamon before discarding his jacket into his walk-in-wardrobe and his work-wear into the wash basket in the bathroom, and taking a heated shower.

 Steam swirled all around him, and Zayn disregarded the fact that the usual practices of a working man in the shower were to approach his current thoughts and problems, instead doing what Niall usually did on weekends and hum his favourite songs whilst lathering himself with pink grapefruit body wash.

The door creaked open when Zayn had slipped on a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms, and was brushing his teeth with intent in the mirror, Niall had sheepishly grinned at him, the steam automatically awaking him from his previous drowsy state, Zayn opened his arms with a smile the toothbrush lopsidedly hanging from his mouth.

The hug was possibly a bit wet and the large tee shirt that Niall was wearing, alongside a pair of Zayn’s Calvin Klein’s, was soaked through and consequently smelt sweetly of that grapefruit body wash that Zayn had washed himself with.

Once they had snuggled into bed, the fire flickering in the background, whilst Niall’s fingers twirled intricately around the tattoos on Zayn’s chest before he leant down to kiss the Arabic inscription above his heart, Zayn stopped the smaller boy with a small frown.

Niall looked up at his husband, his golden eyes rimmed red with tiredness and his brows furrowed in concentration as he stared deeply into Niall's eyes which flickered away with insecurity, but Zayn held his chin up softly before kissing his nose.

"Niall, are you happy?" Zayn asked, keeping his eye contact steady even though his heart was pounding unbelievably fast in his chest and those little hidden bubbles of insecturites that had been kept there for a while were currently expecting to explode as he waited for an answer.

Niall had never seen Zayn do this before, he was always so sure and so confident in himself, but Niall knew there must be cracks in the plaster as he'd seen small fragment of it whenever Zayn talked to his father, or on the end of a nervous break-down, but it was never regarding him, or their relationship so it was slightly surprising.

"Yes" he answered immediatley with no pause, or intake of breath and Zayn nodded softly, once and then twice before sighing heavily and dropping his head back against the pillow, and Niall felt the relieve when he laid his head back against his husbands chest, softly breathing as fingers carded through his hair.

Niall fell asleep relaxed, his breathing evened out, and Zayn simply stared at the boy whose head lay across his heart, becasue the one word used to describe him would be him, that one word would be his husband.

Niall.


End file.
